Perchance To Dream
by Devin Jaste
Summary: Quinn Fabray has a very vivid Pulp Fiction-influenced dream about Rachel Berry. Upon awakening, neither is clear who was the dreamer and who was the dream. Is it possible that they both were both? Faberry.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This is something completely different from "How People Start Listening" that I've been playing around with in my head for a while. It's very AU in ways that are going to become even more apparent in later chapters. For now, just assume that any deviation in character history isn't a slip-up on my part, and that it's part of the actual story that will be revealed in later chapters.**

**This is also my first attempt ever at writing a sex scene, so don't judge too harshly. Criticize if you have helpful tips, but please don't blast away at me.**

**Oh, also, I don't own Glee but not for a lack of wanting to.**

**As with everything else I do, thank you deeply for taking the time to read this, and please drop a review if you're so inclined.**

* * *

Quinn sat there in the diner eating her blueberry muffin, Santana sitting across from her with a plate of pancakes and bacon. It was such a stupid idea to let her and Brittany talk her into watching Pulp Fiction last night. Movies late at night always influenced her dreams, so, of course, here she was in the diner scene at the end of the movie. Afro on her head, sideburns and mustache on her face like a white teen girl version of Samuel L. Jackson. Fucking sigh… At least she got to mentally laugh at Santana sitting there in a mullet.

Looking around the diner, she saw no one else she recognized, but that wasn't unusual. She rarely dreamed about her friends anyway, few that she had. Not unless they had speaking roles. There was the couple robbing the diner, though. They played a pretty major role in this scene. She couldn't remember their names, but in the movie they'd called each other Pumpkin and Honey Bunny. Quinn couldn't help but wonder who was playing them in this little nighttime escape. As they were sitting behind her at the moment, and the scene didn't call for her to turn around, all she could do was eat her muffin and respond to Santana.

"Look, my friend," Quinn said, steepling her fingers. "This is just where you and I differ."

"Garcon," Quinn heard someone call out that she swore sounded like Finn. God, she could only hope not. That would mean… "Coffee."

"Q, look," Santana said, getting exasperated with Quinn. "What happened this morning, chick, I agree, it was peculiar. But water into wine? I-I-"

"All shapes and sizes, Santana," Quinn said. How did she ever remember this entire exchange? It must have been like Boyd told her: 'The subconscious picks up everything, even if we're not aware.' He was the expert, after all.

"Don't fucking talk to me that way," Santana said, trying to get Quinn to stop talking. If only she could. Whenever she dreamed a scene like this, it almost always had to play out, and she could almost never change it. Just like looking over at Pumpkin and Honey Bunny behind her. That wasn't part of the scene, so she wasn't able. Fucking dreams.

"If my answers frighten you, Santana, then you should cease asking scary questions."

Santana held up a hand, wanting to make a retort because a response that irritating would have angered real life Santana, much less Vincent-Santana. Instead Santana stopped herself, unable to get past Jules-Quinn's irritating smugness. Finally, she said, "I'ma take a shit." Santana grabbed her book and took a step to walk away but turned back, adding, "Let me ask you something. When did you make this decision? When you were sitting there eating that muffin?"

"Yeah," Quinn said, like it was that simple. "I was sitting here eating my muffin and drinking my coffee and replaying the incident in my head when I had what alcoholics refer to as a 'moment of clarity'."

She popped another bite of muffin into her mouth- which really was good for dream food- while Santana made a "pffttt" sound and mumbled, "Fuck." Then louder, she added, "To be continued." And then she finally did walk off, and Quinn was left with her coffee and muffin.

The coffee was black, not the way she usually got hers, and she decided then and there to see what she could change. She'd been working on just something like this for weeks now with Boyd's help. Why not try it on something little first. She'd already subconsciously changed their names to suit them. Why not consciously attempt to do the same? She might as well. She had another minute or two before the robbery. Besides, she was drinking coffee in the middle of the night… well, in reality it was. In the scene it was still early morning. She knew that the coffee would keep her up the rest of the night if she happened to wake up, though, so she decided to change it into something more soothing.

Looking down on the cup of coffee in her hand, Quinn focused on it, willing it to change. At first there was no discernible difference, but as she stared- and as the vein throbbed in her temple- she felt something give and noticed slowly that the liquid began to lighten more and more. At the same time, the cup in her hand got colder and colder until she was holding a chilled cup of light brown liquid in her hand. Taking a sip, she realized it was chocolate milk. Well, that was pretty close. She'd been aiming for hot chocolate rather than coffee. Oh, well. Looks like she still needed to practice.

"Everybody be cool, this is a robbery!" Quinn heard Finn shout from behind her. Fuck! Fucking Finn Hudson. And if he was 'Pumpkin' then 'Honey Bunny' had to be-

"Any of you fucking pigs move," she heard Rachel Berry scream, "and I'll execute every one of you mother fuckers!"

_Holy fuck_, Quinn thought. Then, realizing just what she had thought, she added, _Sorry Jesus_. But hearing Rachel Berry curse like that was just… unheard of. Quinn would have said unimaginable, but here she was imagining it. Rachel was the nicest, sweetest, most polite person Quinn had ever met… y'know, as long as you weren't competing against her. It was one of the reasons she'd always had a crush on the shorter brunette. But this Rachel…? God, just hearing her curse like that made Quinn flush. Then another thought hit her.

Maybe, like the coffee, she could turn this dream into something better, too. She hadn't had a sex dream in months, and Boyd wasn't training her tonight. Why not have a little fun with this imaginary Rachel? It wasn't like anyone would know. Quinn wasn't dating anyone so she'd have nothing to even feel guilty about. Not that she'd need to feel guilty anyway. It was just a dream. A very realistic dream.

Making her decision, Quinn let the scene play out until Finn came over to get her wallet, too. Walking over, Finn held out the garbage bag and stuck the small revolver in her face, saying, "In the bag." She held her wallet, noting the stitching on it that said 'Bad Mother Fucker', and let it fall into the garbage bag. Finn and Quinn's eyes held each other for a moment before his eyes flicked over to the briefcase, then back to hers. "What's in the case?"

Quinn knew her next line, knew she was supposed to say 'My boss's dirty laundry', and it almost slipped out before she stopped herself. Now was the moment. If she could change the dream, she would. If she couldn't, she'd say it. "My… my boss's…" She focused, pushing like she had with the coffee. Focusing, she finally gritted out, "Diamonds." And like that, it was like a wall crumbled around her, and she knew she was free.

"Wh-what?" Finn asked. "Diamonds?"

"Yes," Quinn said. She'd remembered reading that on a website. Cracked. _Dot com_, she sung in her head like that comedian's puppet. It had been an article about unanswered movie questions that actually had answers. In an earlier draft of the script, apparently it had been diamonds in the briefcase. So there, in her dream, that's what it was.

Quinn picked up the case and set it in front of Finn, feeling the way the diamonds in the case moved around. It must have been packed with them, though there was still enough room for them to move and shake around slightly. The entire time she did this, Quinn could also feel the cold steel of the pistol she had pulled out earlier, still sitting on her leg under the table.

Opening the case for Finn, she noticed that it still glowed with a golden light like in the movie. She couldn't look around the lid and see the diamonds, but she could imagine that they were beautiful. A briefcase full of diamonds was one of the most beautiful things she'd ever imagined. A little, shallow part of Quinn wished she could just bring them out of the dream and be rich, but that didn't work in this world. In other worlds, though…? If Boyd was to be believed, it was possible.

Finn stared down into the case dumbfounded because, really, wasn't that his natural reaction to everything? With a quickness no one knew she had, Quinn reached out and grabbed the gun in Finn's hand, pulling him down to the table and sticking her own pistol in his face. There was a lot of shouting on Rachel's part, but Quinn refused to shout back at her. She only yelled at Finn to calm her down. Once Finn was sitting down and Rachel wasn't freaking out anymore, just standing on top of the table looking over at Quinn and Finn with tears in her eyes, Quinn chanced to look over at her.

Rachel was standing there with a pistol in her hand, looking confused and scared. The dress she wore was long-sleeved and plain, but it showed off her amazing legs. God, she was perfect. Well, okay, not perfect. She was too loud and bossy and annoying, and Quinn often had strong desires to punch her in the face whenever she talked. But, damn, that body. Those legs, that ass, those perfectly handful-sized breasts. That hair. That smile. And, fuck, her singing voice alone was enough to make Quinn squirm in her seat on most days. She'd never tell the real Rachel any of that, but this Rachel was just a figment. A dream. An illusion, as were all the 'people' in the diner with her, Finn included.

Ugh. Fucking Finn Hudson. Quinn didn't hate Finn. She couldn't, really. Not after basically using him for his popularity during the first half of sophomore year. Not that she'd have even needed him for that if she were still on the Cheerios, but that was a completely idiotic part of her past that she was not going to think about right now. But Finn's biggest sin in Quinn's eyes was the fact that he had Rachel. It wasn't something to hold against him, but she couldn't help it. She didn't hate him. She just wanted him gone.

And just like that, Quinn again felt the change as she pulled the trigger, watching the dream-bullet rip through dream-Finn's chest. Finn looked at her shocked then slumped over, momentarily sitting there before fading away into a puff of smoke and quietly disappearing like some enemy in one of Santana's video games. Quinn turned and faced Rachel, leveling the gun on her.

"You killed him?" Rachel asked quietly, almost whispering it, the shock and confusion painted on her face.

"Killed who?" Quinn said, all friendly smile and engaging eyes. It was the same cultivated look she used when she flirted to get things her way. Thank God for being a hot, blonde teenager. "If I killed someone, there would be a body, right?" She gestured to the empty seat across from her where Finn had momentarily sat. "Do you see anyone?"

"….no," Rachel said, unsure. Also, thank God for dream logic.

"Right," Quinn said, again focusing like she had with the coffee. "Now why don't you come down from there, and have a cup of coffee with me like a civilized person." And after another moment's hesitation, Rachel came down from the table she was standing on. It was odd, though. Unlike the coffee or the dialogue change, or even the accidental usage of the power in getting rid of Finn, she hadn't felt anything change with Rachel. It was like she'd just talked the girl into coming down.

Rachel looked down at the table, at the seat, as if expecting to see Finn's body still slumped there, or at least his blood or something. There was nothing there, though. He was simply gone without a trace. Quinn had never accidentally used the power like she'd just done with Finn. It was something she'd have to talk to Boyd about.

Eventually, Rachel sat down, putting the small caliber pistol down on the table in front of her. She looked at the thing like she wasn't sure where it had even came from. "I didn't actually want to rob the place," she said eventually. "It was Finn's idea. I was skeptical, but he kept calling me 'Honey Bunny', and I was so pleased to have a nickname since he usually doesn't show the foresight to come up with something, as I'm sure you can attest to, Quinn. And then he was shoving a gun at me across the table and standing up and saying he was going to rob the place, and suddenly it was like I was in a play that I somehow knew all the words to. It's undeniably strange." God, dream-Rachel even rambled on like normal Rachel.

"Undeniably," Quinn said, reaching across the table and taking Rachel's hand in her own. She'd also laid her gun down on top of the table, fairly certain she wasn't going to need it anymore. Rachel looked at her like she'd lost her mind for taking her hand, but wisely chose not to say anything. Maybe it said something about her that even dream-Rachel was nervous around Quinn. She was a bitch after all. She just wished it was easier. 'Undeniably', they'd both just said. Quinn wished that them being together truly was undeniable. She wanted Rachel. She wanted this. Just being able to sit across from her and hold her hand. She wanted them to be undeniable.

Quinn closed her eyes and focused on the jukebox in the corner. She wasn't sure if there actually was a jukebox in the corner, but there would be now that she was thinking about it. The further she got away from the original scene from Pulp Fiction, the easier it became to change things in her dream, and it was but a second of concentration before she heard the jukebox start up.

As the opening notes of the song started playing, Quinn rose from the table, saying "Dance with me." It wasn't a question but a command as she was used to giving them, and, as usual, people listened. Rachel seemed hesitant to do so, but she rose from the seat still holding the blonde's hand as Quinn pulled her in close.

Focusing again, the daytime outside turned to night, the people in the restaurant disappeared, and a soft spotlight shone down on Rachel and Quinn. This was Quinn's dream, and if she was going to do this, she was going to do it right. This was the girl she'd had a crush on for over two years. It wasn't some hard, fast, and dirty sex dream. This was her chance to make Rachel feel special and wanted, even if it wasn't real and she'd never have the courage to do this in real life.

They danced together for a moment before Quinn started singing the beginning of the song.

"_It's undeniable how brilliant you are  
__In an unreliable world you shine like a star  
__It's unforgettable now that we've come this far  
__It's unmistakable that you're undeniable…_"

Quinn let Mat Kearney take over from there as she danced with Rachel, no space between them, bodies pressed tightly together. Rachel's head was on Quinn's shoulder. Quinn couldn't help but inhale the scent of Rachel's hair which even in dreams smelled like vanilla and lavender and something fundamentally Rachel. It was the most amazing feeling in the world, finally holding Rachel against her. It was what she'd wanted since the first time Quinn had seen her their first day of freshman year. If only she could tell her. If only Rachel wasn't dating Finn. If only Quinn wasn't scared to death of being out. So many ifs.

They moved back and forth to the song until it came to a close and silence enveloped them. They still swayed to a beat that only they could hear until finally Rachel pulled back just slightly enough to look up at Quinn. "Did you mean that? The words of the song? That I shine like a star, and- and everything else?"

"Every word."

Ducking her head, Quinn lowered her lips to Rachel's, brushing them slightly against the brunette's. God, she even tasted pretty. It started soft, tender, wanting. Like the first few sparks of a forest fire before it consumed everything around it. Before soft turned to fierce. Before tender turned to passion. Before want turned to need. And they found themselves being consumed by it.

Deepening kisses, lips traveling, trailing along Quinn's neck. She hadn't expected Rachel, even dream-Rachel, to be so bold, but she was thankful for it while she still had the capacity to think. Rachel sucked, bit at her neck, leaving what would have been bruises if any of this were real. A hand came up and palmed Quinn's breast through her shirt, and Quinn's back arched in response with a need to feel more. She wasn't wearing a bra because that had gotten thrown out with the rest of her clothes that had Marvin's blood on them.

Spinning them around, Quinn backed Rachel up against the table, now cleared of dishes and guns alike. She matched the brunette heated kiss for heated kiss, leaving her lips only long enough to trail kisses down her throat while Rachel moaned her name softly in her ear. God, that voice. If Quinn had ever thought Rachel's singing was a turn on, her moans and breathy whimpers were so much more.

Her needy hands clung to Rachel glorious ass as her lips, her tongue, continued to plunder Rachel's mouth. Breaking the kiss, Quinn pulled away, ripping the front of Rachel's dress open, watching but not really caring as buttons went flying. If this were the real world, she _might_ have cared. Maybe. Probably not. She needed to see Rachel. To feel her. And- thank God- she wasn't wearing a bra either.

She forced Rachel back until she was laying on the diner table, then climbed up with her, straddling her. She paused a moment, looking down at this goddess underneath her. The dusky nipples hardening in the air-conditioned breeze from some vent.

Rachel looked up at her, self-conscious, but Quinn just said, "No," and moved down again, placing soft, sweet kisses on Rachel's lips, her cheeks, her jawline. "You never have to feel that way around me," Quinn said. Reaching down she placed a hand inside the opened front of the brunette's dress and palmed her breast, thumb lightly tracing the nipple. "You are perfect, Rachel Berry."

Quinn kissed Rachel again, aggressively, wantonly. She was claiming what was hers, even if it meant nothing. Moving down, Quinn kissed her jaw, her neck, licking her way across her collar bone, her cleavage. Her lips stopped on a nipple, sucking it in and feeling Rachel buck beneath her. It was like painting, like creating something from nothing, but so much better. She was the reason for this reaction. _Quinn_ was.

Not wanting to leave the other breast unattended, she switched her lips from one to the other, her fingers taking the now abandoned nipple and squeezing, pulling lightly, causing these little noises from Rachel. God, she wished she had all night to figure out what made this dream-woman tick. Or, more than that, she wished she had the actual woman under her to figure it out with. She wanted to play Rachel like an instrument, get her to truly sing with her ministrations.

Leaving her breasts, Quinn traveled even lower, swirling her tongue around her belly button, causing Rachel's abdominal muscles to twitch and tighten under her. The girl's body was intoxicating, and she was determined to love every inch of it.

Moving lower still, she ran into dress again, and Quinn was out of buttons to unbutton. Not even trying to bother with the dress, she just pulled at the material, the sound of the ripping of fabric almost as pleasant to her ears as the noises Rachel had been just making. Finding pink panties with little white hearts on them, Quinn found she couldn't be any more attracted to this girl than she already was. It was just too Rachel, too adorable.

She moved down off of the table, off of Rachel, bent down, and kissed the panties before removing them. She looked back up at Rachel who had sweat beading on her forehead and her bottom lip between her teeth. Even in a dream Quinn apparently needed to respect her wishes because she found herself unable to do anything besides stare into Rachel's eyes. She wanted to move forward, to taste her, hell, to even look down between the girl's legs to see what she wanted so much, but she was unable. She was lost in those brown irises, waiting. Quinn watched this debate go through Rachel's eyes before she finally nodded her head.

That was all Quinn needed. Placing a hand on her ankle, she lifted it up to her lips and kissed it, trailing kisses up the brunette's left leg. Her calf, her knee, behind her knee because she'd seen how that was the weak spot for the girl in Scott Pilgrim vs. the World. Her thigh. There Quinn hesitated, looking up at Rachel again because, while she'd had sex dreams before, she'd never had one about Rachel. As stupid as it sounded, this felt like her first time with the girl and she wanted to do it right.

Again, Rachel nodded at her, and she kissed her way in from Rachel's thigh, placing one kiss on her center that had the girl bucking slightly off the table, then kissing her other thigh, down to the knee, then back up to her center again. This time she stayed, truly tasting her for the first time. And, okay, she had sometimes… occasionally… imagined what Rachel Berry would taste like. Santana would often tease her and tell her she'd "taste like berries because, duh". Brittany would say she'd probably taste sweet because she was so nice. Quinn, never having a girlfriend and nervous over tasting herself, had nothing to base it on. To be honest, it was kind of like nothing else. Almost like there was no taste. On a scale of one to ten with one being disgusting, ten being completely great, and five being neutral or tasteless, she was maybe a… six? And, God, where was her mind when she could think about stuff like this while doing what she was doing?

Bringing her focus back to where it should be, Quinn kissed Rachel again down there. Placing small sweet kisses at first, much like she'd done with her face. She treated it like a kiss, using only her lips before nervously starting to use her tongue. Rachel was already bucking up off the table as she squeezed her own breasts while Quinn's tongue danced over her core. Again, there was the painting metaphor. Flat, long strokes with her tongue rather than her brush. Quick thin swipes. Plunging deep inside the brunette with a thrust of her tongue like the quick jabs with her paintbrush. Sucking on her clitoris, which… okay, that had nothing to do with painting. Neither did the finger she added. Then, after another minute, a second one.

She listened as Rachel panted on top of the table, loving the sounds the girl was making as she called her name. Quinn thought she could go deaf after finally hearing this, since nothing else would ever be as pleasurable… short of hearing it in real life. She'd had sex dreams before, but this one was so much clearer, so much better. She didn't know why, and God, did she ever not care. This was beautiful in the way that nothing else could be. Causing Rachel to make these little moans, and breathy pants, and mumbled curses, and screaming praises to God. This was all she wanted to do forever.

And then Rachel started saying, "Oh, God, Quinn, I'm so close… so close… so close…"

* * *

Rachel woke up to the most intense orgasm of her life, face down into her pillow, one hand in her sleep shorts, two fingers buried inside herself, while the other hand squeezed a breast, pulling and rolling her nipple underneath her shirt. She screamed as she came, thankfully muffled by the pillow, because, _dear God_, she'd screamed Quinn Fabray's name. Former bully, current Glee teammate, and- most importantly- _girl_ Quinn Fabray.

Her hips thrashed as she moaned, shuddering every time she remembered what Quinn had been doing to her in that dream. If it wasn't her own fingers inside of her at the moment and her own hand on her breast, she would have sworn that it was the real Quinn that had done this to her. It was so realistic. More so than any other dream she'd ever had. Even thinking about it, it seemed more memory than dream.

Rachel had a pretty good grasp on what was real and what wasn't. Dreams weren't real. No matter how she wished they were at times, they weren't. Dreams, even though they seemed real while dreaming them, when a person woke up, they knew the difference. But this? This was just… it was unlike anything she'd ever experienced before.

Coming down from her self-pleasure induced high, Rachel shook a couple of times, residual ripples rolling through her body. Slowly she extricated her fingers from her shorts and her hand from her shirt. Whipping the blankets back, Rachel stood on shaking legs. She peeled off the sticky shorts and threw them into a hamper. She noted the time on her alarm clock. 5:47 a.m. She only had thirteen more minutes to sleep anyway; it would be silly to try and lay down for that amount of time.

Rachel changed into a new pair of shorts and made her way down into the kitchen, making a banana and protein powder smoothie and drinking it down quickly before going back upstairs and hopping on her elliptical. The hour she spent on it was usually devoted to the goal in front of her (currently Regionals, as they were only two months away from competing), but instead she was focused on the dream again.

Aside from it being so realistic, it had also been completely strange. She'd been in a diner she'd never seen before, having a cup of coffee with Finn and talking about robbing the place. Rachel didn't know where the words she'd said had come from, but she knew they were the right ones. Everything was going to plan. Even seeing Quinn. It had been odd, the way the blonde had a dark afro, sideburns, and mustache, but even that felt like it belonged. Everything had been going according to plan until Quinn had shot Finn. That wasn't supposed to happen. She was just supposed to talk to them and quote some bible verse or something. At some point a guy- who was being played by Santana- was going to come out of the bathroom and he/she was going to point a gun at Rachel.

But then something had changed. Rachel had felt it, like the stage curtain lifting and revealing the rest of the theater. They were no longer on book, and when she saw the bullet rip through Finn, she knew it. And Finn had just disappeared like he'd never existed, and Quinn was looking beautiful even with the fake looking facial hair, and she was smiling like Rachel was the most beautiful person in the world, and she'd even said that. And then there were kisses, and hands, and the feel of Quinn's tongue on her, inside her-

Rachel faltered on the elliptical, and she tightened her hands on the handlebars of the machine to keep from falling. _Fuck_! Rachel thought as she hit the button on the machine to stop it, knowing this must be really getting to her if she was actually cursing in her own head. It was inappropriate and a mark of ignorance when someone cursed rather than used their vocabulary, and she was not the type of person to do such a thing. She was just… consternated, and she needed to talk to someone about what this meant. Someone that would understand what she was going through.

Rachel wiped at the sweat running into her eyes and headed for the shower. Finn was out of the question. He'd already doubted himself when Jesse showed up in their lives last year trying to woo her away from him. Her dads would be the best, but if she were truly having what some people called a 'gay panic', she didn't want to discuss the repercussions with her fathers. Though, they would be undoubtedly happier if she were dating a woman. While no one she knew had ever been pregnant, Rachel was well aware, as were her fathers, of the statistics for teenage pregnancy.

Her friends at school, it seemed, would be the best choice. Though, really, Kurt would be the very best to understand what she was going through. He may have known he was gay from, as he liked to say, 'the day he was born', but surely he must have had the rare confusing dream about a woman. Talking to Kurt would make Rachel feel better about having a sex dream- a _very_ _vivid_ sex dream- about Quinn Fabray. And even though he was one of the biggest gossips in the school, he wouldn't tell, not about something like this. Rachel could tell. She was a little psychic, after all.

Finishing her morning routine, Rachel enjoyed a pleasant, if somewhat subdued, breakfast with her fathers. They could tell something was on her mind, but, unlike her if she were in the same situation, they didn't pry. In thanks, she hugged them both on the way out once Finn had arrived.

Getting to his truck, Rachel gave Finn a quick good morning kiss that he immediately deepened, nearly shoving his tongue in her mouth. Ugh. Not that she didn't love Finn _and_ making out with him, but not every kiss was an invitation for tongue. Couldn't he just give her a good morning kiss like a normal person?

And where was the technique? Quinn had kissed her like an expert. No, that made it seem… professional, or something. A kiss-tittute? _No, Quinn kissed_… Rachel thought about it for a moment, looking for something beautiful, something poetic, something exactly right to describe the fire and passion that Quinn kissed her with. _Quinn kissed like a woman going to battle that may never come home, as if every kiss might be her last and it was the last thing she wanted in life_. Only once she was sitting comfortably beside Finn, his overly large hand wrapped around hers as he drove, did she realize she was sitting there comparing Finn to a dream. Worse, a dream-_Quinn Fabray_.

Arriving at school, Finn followed Rachel to her locker where she got her books, then made an excuse about needing to find Kurt and speak to him privately about Glee. Rushing off, she avoided the jocks and Cheerios like a bunny running through the woods, wary of hawks. _Okay, that wasn't the most flattering self-description, but accurate nonetheless_. Though she was dating the quarterback and was teammates in Glee with Santana and Brittany, they still never stood up for her as far as bullying and slushees were concerned. It seemed the precedent Quinn had set up of twice-weekly slushees in her one year of being a Cheerio had somehow stuck.

Fleeing down the hall, she caught a glimpse of Quinn as she got books out of her locker. She was dressed in a blue baby-doll dress and white cardigan, with white flats to match. She was probably the most wholesome-looking girl that Rachel had ever seen, though she didn't let that fool her for a second. She may not have been the same girl she'd been when Rachel had started getting slusheed on her orders, but, somehow, she still was.

Back then, she had been an amazingly talented freshman cheerleader that, through some kind of… _shenanigans_… that people still spread rumors about, had become Captain of the Cheerios. How a freshman became leader of the number one ranked cheerleading squad in the nation, Rachel had no idea, but she respected Quinn for it. She'd always had a thing for talent. That was before Quinn's fall, though, both literally and figuratively.

Now, in their junior year, Quinn was no longer a Cheerio, but she still carried herself with an air of… not superiority, but definitely something stronger than confidence. Almost as if she realized all the trivialities of high school didn't matter. People still moved to get out of her way when she walked down the hall. This was partially from Quinn still being close friends with the two most popular girls in school, and partially from the way she'd broken Karofsky's nose in a fight earlier that school year.

As Rachel passed her, Quinn seemed to stop what she was doing and turn to find Rachel's eyes. They locked for a moment before Quinn smiled seductively- _wait, was that seductively? It could have just been friendly? God, I need to talk to Kurt_- at her, flashing that pearly white smile and turning back to her locker. She almost tripped over her own Mary Janes as she passed the blonde. Thankfully, Rachel found Kurt in the courtyard soon after, texting who she guessed was the boy Blaine he'd met when he'd gone to spy on the Dalton Academy Warblers.

"Kurt, we desperately need to talk," Rachel said, rushing up to him.

"If this is about the duets project," Kurt said, straightening his hair from the nonexistent wind, "then I'm not trading partners. Sam and I are going to mop the floor with everyone else, you and Quinn included."

A look of horror passed over Rachel's face. She'd forgotten about the assignment yesterday in Glee. They'd gone back to the hat- that, for some reason, Brittany thought a duck lived inside- for another duets lesson, and Rachel had been randomly partnered with Quinn Fabray. While she and Quinn were civil with one another, they weren't exactly friends. It also hadn't actually been that vocally exciting either because, even though Quinn had a lovely voice, she was limited in what she could do. Rachel would much rather have been paired vocally with Kurt or Mercedes or even Santana. Now, with this dream last night, it wasn't going to be boring, it was going to be incredibly awkward.

"No!" Rachel said, nearly screeching the word. When she looked around at the people staring at her, Kurt included, she blushed. "I just…" She dropped her voice down to a whisper as she scooted in beside him. "I need to talk to you about… about being… gay." Kurt eyes went wide at this. "I may have had a _very_ vivid dream about a, umm… another girl."

"A sex dream?" Kurt asked. Rachel blushed even further and nodded silently. It had to be the first time she'd been silent about anything. "And do you mind if I ask who this girl was?"

She was quiet for another minute, remembering the dream again. It still gave her shivers. "Quinn Fabray."

Kurt just nodded his head in thought, and asked her to continue. And, boy, did she ever. Except for the graphic details, which Kurt was thankful she decided to skip, Rachel told him all about the dream. The diner. The ridiculous afro, sideburns, and mustache that Quinn had been wearing. The way Finn had been wearing a Hawaiian shirt and going on about robbing places. The way she knew guy-Santana would be in the bathroom. Her and Finn actually going to rob the place. Finn being shot and disappearing. Rachel and Quinn dancing to the song "Undeniable" by Mat Kearney. Then, all the 'amazing lady sex'. Yes, she actually, embarrassedly used those words, actually listened in horror as they unfilteredly slipped out. 'Amazing lady sex.'

Kurt was about to respond with something, but looked over Rachel's shoulder and whispered to her, "Speaking of amazing lady sex…" Rachel shot him a confused look, but he only motioned for her to turn around. She turned just in time to come face to breasts with Quinn.

Blushing yet again, she looked up to the blonde's face and cleared her throat, saying, "Oh, umm… hi, uh, Quinn. Lovely, umm… day? What can I- I mean _we_, obviously. Not _I_. What can _we_ help you with? Kurt and I. Help. You with. Question mark."

"Smooth," she heard Kurt cough out. Quinn paid no attention to him, as per the usual, even if she had helped him earlier in the year with Karofsky. Rachel shot him a warning look, and he held up his hands in surrender. She continued to glare at him until he looked away from the two girls, going to his cell phone instead and pressing buttons on it.

Once he was firmly engrossed in his cell phone again, Rachel turned back to Quinn who was just watching her with a raised questioning eyebrow and an amused look on her face. "Sorry," Rachel said. "What can we do for you, Quinn?"

After a moment, Quinn switched back to her seductive- _friendly!_- smile, and said, "I was just wondering if you wanted to get together today and work on song selections. Maybe we could go over to your house and work on something this afternoon. We both know you're kind of a perfectionist and insanely talented, so I have no doubt we're winning. Just to make the other groups feel better, though, we should probably try to make it seem like we're worried about them as competition. I mean, instead of us appearing one hundred percent certain that it's going to be a vicious one-sided beating. Which I _am_ certain, by the way. Still, just to make _them_ feel better, we should at least look like we're practicing." Quinn turned up the wattage of her smile somehow and Rachel felt the blush reddening her cheeks. Rachel Berry did like to be complimented.

"Well, yes, I supposed that would be acceptable," Rachel said. "We do need to choose songs for the mashup, after all."

"Acceptable?" Quinn asked, this time looking slightly skeptical as she smiled. "Wow, Berry, don't be so enthusiastic."

"I'm sorry Quinn," Rachel said. "I meant no disrespect. I would love to work on you today."

A pause. "On me?"

"What?" Rachel asked, looking back and forth between a giggling Kurt and a curious, smiling Quinn. "_No_! I said _with_ you. I'd love to work _with_ you today."

"Whatever, Berry" Quinn said, hazel eyes blazing this smug, superior look. "I'll take you home today after school and we'll take it from there." With that, she turned to walk away.

As Rachel was watching Quinn's magnificent butt walk away, Kurt interrupted, handing Rachel his cell phone and asking, "Was it something like this?"

Looking down at the cell phone in her hand, Rachel saw a still from the movie Pulp Fiction. It had Samuel L. Jackson and John Travolta talking inside a diner. The exact same diner that Rachel had been in last night in her dream. The table was the same. The afro, mustache, and sideburns were the same. Even the stupid looking shirt and shorts Quinn had been wearing last night were the same. It was an exact replica of what she'd seen in her dream last night, but that made no sense whatsoever.

Without even thinking, Rachel said aloud, "But I've never even seen Pulp Fiction."

For some reason, she looked up again and locked eyes with Quinn again. Except, this time the blonde's eyes were like saucers and she visibly paled as she stared at Rachel, a look of horror passing her face. Her lips moved, but Rachel was too far away to hear what she had said. Turning on her heels, the blonde almost ran out of the courtyard. Everyone parted and turned to watch as she fled.

* * *

"Undeniable" by Mat Kearney


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes #1: Thanks for the few people that have read, followed, favorited, and reviewed the first chapter. I'm always incredibly appreciative of that. I know this story might be kind of weird so far, but don't worry. It'll get stranger. Mostly I'm using this to try and tell a different kind of story whenever I need a break from the seriousness of "How People Start Listening".**

**So read, enjoy, and leave a review if you're so inclined.**

* * *

-High School Cheerleading National Competition, Early February, Freshman Year-

Quinn stood at the top of the human pyramid, in front of the audience, the television cameras, the other teams, and she knew, just knew, that they had won. The routine was perfect. Flawless. A year of training on the Cheerios, and it had brought her here, to Disneyworld in sunny Orlando, Florida. It was her first cheerleading championship, Coach Sue's fifth, and it was _the_ highlight of her otherwise miserable life. Nothing else compared. So far, at least.

Becoming Head Cheerio had been the first step. It was a shame what she had to do to senior Melissa Stegman, the former Head Cheerio, but it had been a necessity. She had been weak and a bad choice on Coach Sue's part. There simply hadn't been anyone ruthless enough to lead the Cheerios when Coach Sue had made the decision. That was before Quinn was able to break away from the pack and prove that she had what it took to take the reins of the nationally ranked cheerleading squad. And if Melissa had to transfer halfway through her senior year? Well, so be it.

But Head Cheerio was only the beginning in her plan to rule William McKinley High School. After taking her rightful spot at the top, Quinn had started the ironically named Celibacy Club _and_ had started dating the quarterback of the losing-est football team in Ohio, senior Marcus McDowell. He was a meathead, and she never let him get too far in their make out sessions as she was a "good Christian girl". Quinn even had her eye on his replacement, a freshman like herself, Finn Hudson. She made sure to flirt with him whenever Marcus wasn't around.

After all the prep work that this year had entailed, everything else would be smooth sailing. Homecoming court royalty. Junior prom queen. Senior prom queen. Three more Cheerleading National Championships. Most likely to succeed in the yearbook. Graduating at the top of her class. And, finally, a full ride on a cheerleading scholarship to some out-of-state school.

Maybe then, once she was out of Lima and away from her father, Quinn could be true to herself. Well, as long she kept cheerleading in college. She was sure her scholarship would require that much. But really, those were some of the hottest girls in the world on those collegiate cheerleading teams, and she'd be sharing a locker room with them. If any of them were as 'friendly' as Santana and Brittany were with each other, she'd be out and proud in no time.

But that was years from now. Right now, Quinn Fabray was exactly where she was meant to be. On top.

Out in the crowd, hundreds, thousands of camera flashes went off as the William McKinley High School Cheerios were finishing their routine. Quinn could only hope that this made her parents look better, that they would finally be pleased. It wasn't easy pleasing Russell and Judy Fabray. Only in the last year or two, since the diet, the nose job, the transformation from Lucy into Quinn, had Russell Fabray shown any kind of pride in his second daughter. Judy, it seemed, was easier. As long as Quinn was happy, she was happy. Okay, no, scratch that. Judy was definitely the more difficult to please.

One camera flash stood out from the rest of the crowd. It wasn't a flash, but a steadily increasing light source. Almost like a light bulb being turned on and directed at Quinn. She squinted against the light that was constantly getting brighter. It was no longer a light bulb but a spotlight. A prolonged lightning strike. God, it was like staring into the sun. Quinn couldn't even see where it was coming from. She couldn't see anything. She shut her eyes against the light but it burned even behind her eyelids. What the fuck was going on? How was no one else panicking? She had to get away! She had to-

And her team was tossing her up in the air from the top of the pyramid. It was the final stunt, and it had been hellacious to get perfected, but the Cheerios had done it. A hundred times in practice she had done this move successfully. The second layer of the pyramid were tossers that would do their namesake, Quinn would do a 720-spin in the air, the catchers behind her would catch her perfectly and she'd pose with the rest of the squad like it was nothing. But this time, Quinn had propelled herself too hard in her haste to get down, to get away from the light, and she was overshooting. She was falling.

Quinn thought it would be her life that flashed before her eyes as she fell, but it wasn't. It was almost as if time slowed down to the speed of molasses. There was Coach Sue Sylvester, eyes wide as she looked on in horror. It seemed she already knew what was going to happen. There was Brittany on the other side of the mat, already breaking into a run to try and catch Quinn. They both knew it was going to be too late, but at least she was responding. Everyone else just looked on in horror, if they noticed any deviation at all.

It was as if you could pick out the ones that truly understood cheerleading in its true gymnastic background. Not as something to rev up the crowd at a football game. Not as a chance for middle aged fathers and high school boys to stare at girls in tight skirts shaking their pompoms. No, those that understood the level of physical endurance and training to compete on the national level, those were the ones that were watching her fall towards the ground. The rest were still just mesmerized by the show. Somehow, Quinn felt sure this show wouldn't disappoint.

At least the light was gone.

* * *

-Mid March, Freshman Year-

Quinn woke up six weeks later in a hospital in Lima, Ohio with a cast on her wrist, one on her leg, and a metal plate in her head. Her wrist and leg were pretty much healed by that time, so the casts actually came off within days of her waking up. And, thankfully, the metal plate was small, about the size of a quarter, and she got a card to carry with her stating that she had it in case she ever had to go through a metal detector again. All things considered, it could have been worse. She could have been dead, she supposed. Or permanently crippled. When Quinn later learned that no one else had seen the light and that her fall had cost them Nationals, she thought that she might have preferred death.

Physical therapy after that was a bitch, but Quinn agonized her way through it. She also caught up with all her school work in record time. She wouldn't dare suffer to spend another year at that school just because she missed some time away. She was already being cast as _the_ reason the Cheerios hadn't won Nationals for the fifth year in a row. All the Cheerios, barring Santana and Brittany, were hating on her in the halls. And Quinn had been summarily stripped of her uniform by Coach Sue before even returning back to school.

"Nothing personal," she'd said. "But you're a curse on my Cheerios, and I can't have your shame staining my record." How that _wasn't_ personal, Quinn had no idea. "For what it's worth, I'm glad you're okay, and you're probably the best well-rounded cheerleader I've seen since my own glory days on the field. I'm sorry, Q." And then she was gone, and Quinn Fabray's cheerleading days were officially over.

Quinn powered through the rest of the year. She wasn't a loser like some of the kids at school. She was still compellingly beautiful and completely scary. When Marcus broke up with her, in the middle of a crowded hallway no less, Quinn didn't cry. She didn't get upset and make a scene. She was perfectly civilized, the epitome of class and poise. The same couldn't be said for Marcus when he went to leave school for the day and found all four of his tires slashed.

It was tougher when the slushees started. It was always either the Cheerios, exempting Santana and Brittany, of course, or the jocks on orders from the Cheerios. No one ever tried anything while Santana and Brittany were around, but it wasn't like they could protect her all day. Quinn Fabray had gone from most popular girl in school to another Rachel Berry in less than a year. And unlike the actual Rachel Berry, Quinn didn't have the talent and drive to know she was going to leave this town. Without cheerleading, she started to doubt she had anything at all.

The end of freshman year brought relief to Quinn. Besides Santana and Brittany, she wouldn't have to see anyone from school for three months… if she was lucky. True, Lima wasn't the largest town, and the Cheerios roamed the mall in packs, but she didn't need to go out. She could just stay in her room and draw or write all day. Quinn had even picked up some simple water-based paints and was attempting her hand at painting. She hadn't taken any art classes since middle school, since her Lucy days, and she found that she missed it greatly. And that she was pretty good at it. If only Quinn could stop with the same motif over and over…

Ever since the accident, since her fall from grace, Quinn had dreamed of doors. Doors of all shapes and sizes. Doors in houses, bedrooms, buildings. Doors cut into trees or cut into the sides of mountains. Freestanding doors. Wooden doors. Metal doors. Always solid, always heavy, always immovable. Well, that last one may or may not have been true. Quinn Fabray, the girl that showed no fear, no emotions to anyone, was afraid of the doors.

She knew they were probably some symbolic dream representation for change or some other Freudian bullshit like that. And Quinn being afraid of the doors was tantamount to being afraid of that change, of her life changing. Being afraid of becoming something other than the popular cheerleader that she had worked a year and a half to become. Still, even acknowledging that she understood the imagery, she was still afraid of the doors. On some base level, Quinn knew that when she went through them, nothing would ever be the same again.

So Quinn painted doors in some hope that getting them out on paper would somehow relieve her subconscious mind of them. She would paint door after door after door, always working them into a background that never fit them. Beautiful forest at dusk? Door. Breathtaking morning sunrise on top of a hill overlooking the ocean? Door. Self-portrait? Doorknob reflected in her eyes. And no matter how much she tried to stop before she painted the door, Quinn couldn't control herself. Even if she didn't paint it in, she still saw the place that it should go. The unfinished painting would haunt her until she finally painted the damned door into the picture.

At first, Quinn burned all her paintings. She couldn't stand looking at them. The doors seemed to taunt her, daring her to open them. She wasn't crazy. She knew the doors on the paper couldn't be opened. They were simply symbolic of the doors in her dreams. Quinn knew the difference between reality and dream. That didn't stop her from starting to stare at closed doors in her waking hours, though. Some mornings she would wake up and try to go downstairs but found herself staring at her bedroom door instead. _What if this was one of those really realistic dreams_, she would think, _and that's not really my bedroom door but one of __**those**__ doors_?

After the third time of her mother finding her staring at a door, Judy finally sat her down and demanded Quinn talk to her. Quinn told her of the dreams, the paintings, the doors. How they scared her. How Quinn obsessed over them, first in her dreaming hours and now in her waking ones. How she thought she might be going crazy. And that conversation was how Quinn found herself in her first therapy session.

* * *

-Middle of July, Summer Break between Freshman and Sophomore Years-

"Welcome, Quinn," Dr. Alex Samuels said as he met her and her mother out in the waiting room. He was a tall white man about her father's age. Not bad looking, if daddy issues had been her thing. This was something Quinn was thankfully denied by her sexual preference. He had pleasant blue eyes, not the bright blue of Brittany's, but a dull greyish blue. Eyes that said he'd seen things. She couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing yet.

"It's nice to meet you. If you'll just follow me through here…" He led Quinn back into his office, a large leather couch, a formidable desk that he sat behind, a high-backed leather chair. The room smelled slightly of the mustiness of old books. Quinn was surprised by the absence of the smell of cigar smoke lingering in the afternoon air, though she supposed that would be a little more unprofessional than the image the man went for. Maybe a hundred years ago, where the rest of this office fit. Not now. Doctors of all kinds now wanted their image to say 'Healthy', and she understood that smoking of any kind probably went against that. Still, this being one of her father's friends, Quinn had no doubt that Saturday night whiskeys, cigars, and poker were the norm, along with church on Sunday mornings, of course.

"So," Dr. Samuels said after offering Quinn a seat on the couch and settling himself behind his large ornate desk. God, Freud would have a field day with this man's notions of power and overcompensation… if Freud wasn't also guilty of the same intimidation tactics. Probably. She needed to read up on her pop psychology before she could judge the good doctor of such things. _This_ doctor, though? She could judge him all day long. Why not? He was judging her. "What brings you here to my office, Miss Fabray? May I call you Lucy?"

"Quinn, actually," Quinn said, quick to correct him. It hadn't been Lucy since she decided to change herself to be popular… lot of good that did.

"Noted," Dr. Samuels said, and he actually did seem to be making a note of it on his large yellow legal pad.

"And it's my parents that bring me here, I suppose," Quinn said. "My mother literally, and my father because you two are, or at least were, friends." She left the unspoken accusation hanging there in the air, and the doctor stared at her for a moment before nodding his head.

"Russell is an old friend of mine from high school," the doctor said, "as well as a good friend of mine now. I understand why he wanted you driven an hour out of the way to protect his, as well as your, reputation, and I can respect that. Understand that I feel the same way. I would never want my professional reputation to be impugned over something as important as doctor-patient confidentiality. As such, anything that's said in this office is strictly between us. Short of the belief that you may harm yourself, of course."

Quinn sat with that a minute, considering it. She could understand his need to keep his professional record unblemished, and a patient complaint of his breaking doctor-patient confidentiality could blemish it pretty damned quick. Besides, she'd told her mother most of this, anyway. She hadn't told her about the bullying, but Quinn figured she deserved that after treating everyone at school so terribly most of the year anyway. So, really, what did she have to lose? As long as she kept the being gay part from him- and, really, that wasn't even why she was there- then everything should be fine. Besides… she couldn't take the dreams freaking her out every night, invading her day. Not anymore.

Finally, Quinn spoke in a quiet voice, saying, "I've been having… dreams. Since I woke up from the coma. Do you know about all that?"

"Yes your mother filled me in quite a bit on your medical history," Dr. Samuels said. "But tell me anyway. I'd like to hear it in your own words."

Quinn licked her lips, mouth suddenly dry. "Sure. I was at the top of the pyramid for the last toss. I saw a bright light that kind of freaked me out, I jumped too hard, fell, and woke up six weeks later. After-"

"Tell me about this light."

Quinn stopped. "It was just a light, y'know. It was brighter than the rest. Like a spotlight, maybe."

"And do you usually get nervous about being in the spotlight?"

"No. I love it," Quinn said. "I'm… or at least I _was_… head Cheerio." At his puzzled expression, she clarified. "It's our word for cheerleader at school. So I'm used to being in the spotlight. Everyone looking up at me. It's part of the reason I love being a flyer."

"Head cheerleader as a freshman? That must have been something to be proud of."

"It was," Quinn said. "I worked really hard to get in shape enough to be a Cheerio. I know I'm really pretty right now, but growing up, I was the fat kid with glasses and acne. It took an extreme diet, an exercise routine, and a nose job to get me to this level. So yeah, I was proud to be head Cheerio."

Quinn saw it there in his eyes, for a moment at least. That want, need, to say something about her nose job. Especially at such a young age. Quinn had begged her daddy to let her get one between eighth and ninth grades, and he had eventually given in. He'd had her driven to another "out of town friend" that performed it for her so no one in Lima would ask about it. When she came back with bandages on her face, they told the people at church that she'd been hit in the face with a volleyball and had to have corrective surgery.

"So, going back to this light. There was nothing special about it?"

"Well, it was bright," Quinn said. "Like, really bright. And it just seemed to get brighter and brighter. Like looking at the sun. So I freaked and overshot my jump."

"And could you tell where it was coming from?"

"No," Quinn said, thinking back on it. She really hadn't thought much about the incident since it actually happened. "It seemed to be coming from everywhere." She watched as the doctor made notes on his pad. "Is that important?"

"Does it seem important to you?"

"No. Well, it didn't, not until you started asking questions about it. Now I guess it's weird that it seemed to come from everywhere. And…" in a quieter voice, "and that no one else saw it."

"You asked your teammates if they saw the light, too?"

"Yeah," Quinn said. "Well, not directly, but when I blamed the light for my falling, they didn't know what I was talking about. That's definitely weird, right? Some kind of visual hallucination?"

"I'm not going to try to determine what it is or what might have caused it," Dr. Samuels said. "Not yet. It is interesting, though. It could have been something as simple as a sudden sensitivity to a lighting fixture that no one else saw because you were the only one in that specific spot. Not everything has a simple explanation, unfortunately. Especially if you haven't seen it again."

It wasn't a question, not really, but Quinn answered anyway. "No. I haven't."

"Good. So what happened after you woke up."

"I started almost immediately catching up on homework and going through physical therapy," Quinn said. "Coach Sue came by the house and said I was off the Cheerios. She said I was 'bad luck'."

"And how did you take the news?"

"I was devastated," Quinn said. "I love… _loved_… being a cheerleader. It was all I had at school. I mean, I had good grades, but that doesn't matter. Not really. Losers can have good grades. Cheerleading was my life for a year, and then it was over. And not because I couldn't do it. Because Sue wouldn't let me."

"What happened next?"

"I started back to school a couple of weeks later," Quinn said. "Everyone blamed me for the loss at Nationals. I started getting bullied. First just people talking about me behind my back. Other Cheerios. People I used to think were my friends. Then the slushee facials started." Here Dr. Samuels gave her another questioning look and she was quick to explain. "You know those slushees that you can get from every gas station and movie theater? We have a slushee machine installed at school. Giving someone a slushee facial is when you take it and throw it in someone's face."

"And that's allowed at your school?"

"I've been told Principal Figgins said that it wasn't to be considered a method of bullying," Quinn said. "That he'd then have to have the machine removed if that were the case. And since it makes so much money for the school, the staff just turns a blind eye to it. Better to have some kids bullied than lose teaching positions, I guess."

"Did you tell your parents about the bullying?"

"No," Quinn said sardonically. "I'm sure I deserve it."

"And what would make you think that?"

"I was Head Cheerio," Quinn said. "As a freshman. You don't get there without doing some bullying of your own. Losers that deserved it. Underlings to keep them in their place. The senior that was Head Cheerios before I took her spot midseason. Which, no, I will not talk about. Let's just say I did some things so bad to her that she had to move in the middle of her senior year. So the bullying? I pretty much deserve that. It sucks, but it is what it is."

"That's an interesting way to look at it. By that definition, what did these 'losers' do to deserve their bullying?"

Quinn bit her lip, thinking it over. She immediately thought of Rachel Berry. "They're losers," Quinn finally said. "They deserve it for just being losers."

"And what makes them losers?"

"Look, I'm not here to talk about the bullying," Quinn said starting to fume. "I'm here to talk about the dreams. The dreams which you have _yet_ to ask me about."

"Everything's related, Quinn," Dr. Samuels said. "All the things we go through during the day make up our dreams at night. So what you're going through during your wakeful state influences your dream state. I'm not here to psychoanalyze your dreams. Any website or book from the self-help section can do that. I'm here to help you so you don't have to be afraid of them."

Quinn sat in silence for a moment, angry that he was digging into her mind, even angrier that he was probably right. "Fine," she said, blowing the hair out of her face. "A loser is someone that's unpopular. Someone that doesn't do what everyone else does. Someone unattractive or awkward or just plain annoying."

"Would you consider yourself a loser? I mean, now that you're off the Cheerios, of course."

"I… I guess," Quinn said. Hadn't she said something like that herself? That she was another Rachel Berry, pariah of William McKinley?

"So do you consider yourself more deserving of these slushees since you're both a past bully and now a loser?"

"Yes."

"So after everything you've been through, after losing the one activity that you seem to love most in the world, you think you're deserving of more abuse? That this kind of treatment is justified because you used to treat people the same way?"

"Yes?"

"No, Quinn," Dr. Samuels said, sighing and shaking his head. "I want to say there are no right or wrong answers here, but that's not true. I'm trying to get you to realize that the bullying isn't your fault. That you don't deserve it. That no one deserves this kind of treatment. Not past bullies, not 'losers', not you or anyone else." They were quiet for a moment, Quinn staring down at her hands, before Dr. Samuels said, "Did you enjoy bullying people?"

"What?" Quinn asked, looking up.

"Did you enjoy the bullying? Hurting people, making them cry? Because it's been my experience that only sociopathic individuals truly enjoy hurting people."

"You know my dad, right?" Quinn asked. "You know what he used to do in high school? He wasn't exactly the nicest of people."

"I remember. I was there with him. You seem more self-aware than Russell or I were back then. And I don't know about your father, but now? The man I've grown into? I wouldn't condone the same behavior I practiced against fellow students. So I have to ask you again. Did you enjoy hurting people when you bullied them?"

Again, Quinn's first thoughts were to Rachel. How she had a crush on her from day one. How she bullied her, thinking that if she made Rachel hate her then maybe she wouldn't like Rachel. How that never seemed to work because Rachel refused to hate her… even when Quinn hated herself. "No."

"I rather thought not. So I have to ask again, do you really think they deserved it? That you deserve it?"

"Maybe they didn't deserve to be bullied," Quinn said, getting angrier with every word she spoke. "Maybe I treated people like shit to help my own popularity. But, yes. I think I do deserve it. I was a bully until it was no longer cool for me to be. I didn't stop because I realized it was wrong or because I started feeling bad about it. I _already_ knew it was wrong, and I _always_ felt bad about it. I only ever stopped because it didn't matter anymore. There's a clearly drawn dividing line in high school. You're either the one doing the bullying or the one getting bullied. Before I fell, I was on one side of the line. When I woke up, I was on the other. So me getting bullied? That justice, as far as I can tell."

"It's interesting that you see this bullying against you as justice," Dr. Samuels said. "As payback. I have to wonder, though. If it were truly payback, wouldn't it be the people that you had bullied doing it to you now? Not the other bullies? That doesn't seem to be justice. They're just doing what they've always done, just now with a new target."

"Maybe it's karma," Quinn said. "Like the universe has decided that I deserve it, and they're just the instruments of my karmic retribution."

"Possibly. Do you believe that?"

"I'm not against it."

"Against what exactly? The idea of karmic retribution or the act itself?"

"Both? Neither? God, I don't know," Quinn said. "Can we just talk about the dreams? Please?"

"Okay," Dr. Samuels said, flipping to a new page on his legal pad. "When did the dreams start?"

"The first night," Quinn said, glad to be finally talking about why she was here. The other stuff was just so fucking difficult. The dreams were easier, at least, even if they did bother her more. The bullying? That was something that was happening _to_ her. Something she just had to suffer through. The dreams, though? That was something that was wrong _with_ her. "I woke up that day and didn't understand what was wrong with me. I had a cast on my wrist, one on my leg, and, I later found out, a small metal plate in my head. I didn't even know how much time had passed. When they told me I lost six weeks, I freaked out. Crying, screaming, everything. I was a brat, a monster. Then, that night, I had my first dreams with the doors."

"Do you remember them?"

"Vaguely," Quinn said. "They're never the focus of the dream. It's just always there. An out of place door. Like, in the center of a tree, or in the side of a mountain, or in a wall where I know there shouldn't be one. I dreamed once that I was walking to my locker and there was a door in between the lockers. Not like a classroom. It was like someone had erased a part of reality and painted it right into the picture. The lockers on both sides were only half there. I could look into the lockers and see people's stuff. Half a gym bag, half a textbook. That first night, though? I dreamed of falling. Of time slowing down while I looked around as I fell. The light wasn't there, but halfway up the stands there was a doorway just sitting there."

"These doors. Are they opened or closed?"

"They're always closed," Quinn said.

"And are they locked?"

"No. …but I don't know how I know that. I've never tried to open one. I just know that if I tried to open it, it would open."

"Do you know the significance of doors in dreams?" Dr. Samuels asked. Quinn shook her head. She'd always meant to look it up but was afraid of what she'd find. "Generally, it's a symbol for opportunity. A locked door is generally symbolic for an opportunity that is closed from you. An open door is generally symbolic for an opportunity being presented to you. A closed door that isn't locked, then, would be symbolic of an opportunity that you're afraid of taking. It looks locked, like it could be withheld from you, but it's one you know on some level that is there for you. Something you have to choose." After a moment of letting her digest that, he asked, "Does this sound like something that could apply to your situation?"

"I don't know," Quinn said, thinking it over. "The doors in my dreams… I'm afraid to go through them. I know everything will be different if I do."

"It sounds to me like everything is already different in your life," the doctor said. "It could be that the fear is caused by not wanting to accept those differences."

"Yeah, but the dreams started in the hospital," Quinn argued. "I didn't know then that I'd be off the Cheerios. Not permanently, at least. I didn't know my life would be changing."

"Then why were you crying and screaming in the hospital?" Dr. Samuels asked. "You said it yourself, that you 'freaked out'. Are you saying that you had no idea your life might be different from that point? The metal plate in your head was enough to make you different than what you were, even if your wrist and leg healed. After working so hard on becoming this version of you, and to have it all possibly taken away from you in one moment. Is that not enough to worry about the possibilities ahead of you?"

She was quiet for a minute. "…yes."

"And if you were truly afraid to go through the door in your dream," he continued, "to even see if it would open, how could you know if it was locked or not? It could be that you dreamed of two different types of doors. You saw locked doors ahead of you because you knew that those paths might be different, that the path you chose to follow might be locked away from you. It was the fear of the unknown that kept you from testing the door to see whether it was unlocked or not. To see if it would open or not. And now you dream of unlocked doors because you _know_ the path is different, and you're not sure if you want to embrace it or not."

"So what? You're saying I'm indecisive? That I need to do what? Embrace my inner loser?"

Dr. Samuels sighed. "The world isn't made up of winners and losers," he said. "The sooner you learn that, the better. It's just made up of people. Everyone trying to do their best to get by. As far as you being indecisive, yes. It sounds like you want this world that's been closed off to you by your cheerleading coach even though you know you can't have it. Your unwillingness to give up the dream that you worked so hard for is what is causing this fear of the unknown, of these doors. You're not sure what will happen in the real world, so you bring that fear into your dream world. And now this symbol of your dreaming fear is starting to manifest in the real world as this fascination with closed doors. Because what lies behind a door isn't a place or a person. It's possibility."

"So…" Quinn started, trying to sort through everything the doctor had said. "My worry about my possible future is manifesting in my dreams as a fear of doors because I want this thing that I worked so hard for and got for a little while and now can't have. And the fear in the dream, that's actually worry in real life, is re-manifesting as a fascination/fear of doors in the real world?"

"That's my theory in a nutshell, yes," Dr. Samuels said.

Quinn sat there with that for a minute, again trying to absorb it all. "When you put it like that, I sound really crazy, don't I?"

"Not at all, Quinn. Not at all," he said with a chuckle. "It's actually quite perceptive of you, even if subconsciously. You've recognized this fear of the unknown for what it is and turned it into its most base example of symbolism. You would be surprised at some of the dreams one might would have in your situation. Yours were surprisingly easy to understand once I got to know more about you."

"That's… good. Right?"

"Very," Dr. Samuels said, smiling. "I think you were on to something before when you said you needed to 'embrace your inner loser', though I wouldn't phrase it quite like that. I think you need to simply make peace with your new position at school. Those bullying you isn't something that's wrong with you, and, unfortunately, there's very little we can do to change their behavior. There are things we can do to improve how you react to their bullying, however. Meditative exercises, thought-behavior modifications. I believe that lessening your anxiety as to your popularity and place in high school will stop the dreams about the doors. If the choice is no longer there, if you 'step through the door' so to speak, there's no doorway to be worried about."

"You're saying I should go through the doorway?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. I believe that as you accept what has happened to you, then your dreams will naturally reflect that, and the doorways will no longer hold any power over you."

Quinn looked skeptical because everything in her was telling her not to go through, that it only led to change and disaster. This man, this _doctor_, was telling her that the change had already happened, though, and that now she just needed to accept it. Okay. She could do this. She was terrified, but she could do this. Let go and let God. Isn't that what they said? Give it up to God? Let Him handle it? So that's what she'd do. She'd let Him handle the fear, and Quinn would step through the door.

* * *

That night, after telling her parents goodnight, Quinn went up to her room, closed the door, and kneeled down beside her bed. She'd prayed often. Asking for things, for help, for the wellness of others. She prayed to be let back on the Cheerios. She prayed to not be gay. She prayed to not be crazy. As for those last few, God wasn't batting so well. She figured after everything, God kind of owed her.

_Dear God_, Quinn thought, eyes closed, hands clasped in front of her on the bed. _I know I've been a horrible person, and I'm sorry for that. I get that not letting me rejoin the Cheerios is some kind of punishment for what I did to Melissa, and, okay, I hate it, but I'm trying to be at peace with that. No more cheerleading? Okay, God. Fair enough. _

_I also know I'm gay, and I'm sorry for that, too, but, hey, I'm not taking all the blame for that one. You made me, not the other way around._ Quinn paused, shifting on the floor. _Okay, I'm sorry. I know pointing fingers isn't the best way to ask for help. But I really do need it. I'm… I'm afraid, God. I need you to protect me. I don't know what's on the other side of those doors, but I feel like it's nothing good. Maybe I'm wrong. Please let me be wrong. I don't know what could happen to me in a dream. I mean, I've seen Nightmare on Elm Street, but I don't actually believe that. And Inception was cool, but it was just a movie. This is real life… __**my**__ life, and I feel like I'm going crazy. Something has to change. Please let it be for the better. Please? In Jesus name we pray, Amen._

Quinn lay down after that, looking over to her new dream journal Dr. Samuels had given her to keep. It was blurry, as everything was without her contacts in, but could still see the black binding over the leather looking cover. It was sitting on top of her sketchbook, a pink and purple glittery disaster of a cover that Brittany had picked out for her. She much preferred Dr. Samuel's. He actually hadn't been as bad as she'd thought he'd be.

As sleep took her, Quinn found herself on a beach. Everything was hazy around her, ethereal, and Quinn was barely in control of her actions as she chased Santana and Brittany across the sand. She knew there was something she was supposed to be doing, but Brittany had her beach ball and kept smacking Santana with it, and she just knew Santana was going to get mad and throw it into the water. And there were piranha in those waters. Quinn couldn't just go get her ball if it was- and fuck! There it went, sailing over the sand and into the water. She could see the piranha already, circling it with their sunglasses on and their platinum necklaces sparkling. "Fucking piranha! Go back to the Jersey Shore!" Santana yelled.

Quinn turned, pissed off at Santana for tossing her ball to the Jersey Piranha. She decided she was going to search for Mini-Puck down the beach. She'd left him sitting on a beach blanket playing with his collection of marble turtles, but she couldn't seem to find him. She couldn't see him, but she heard his radio playing because it was all songs from Rachel's MySpace page. Quinn loved those song.

Looking around, she saw the actual Rachel walking down the beach hand in hand with a large fluffy bunny. "Hold on, Trixie," Rachel told the bunny. "I have to go talk to Quinnie the Pooh." And damned if she wasn't a stuffed bear now. Fucking piranhas. It was somehow all their fault. Oh, bother. At least maybe now she could get a small smackerel of honey.

Rachel seemed to get larger and larger as she walked over to Quinnie, and as she got to her, she reached down and picked her up, cradling the stuffed bear in her arms. "Quinnie," Rachel said, cooing down at her. "Wasn't there something you were supposed to be doing?"

"Did it involve honey?" Quinn asked hopefully. She had a feeling it didn't, though.

"No, sweetie," Rachel said, bending down to rub her nose in the plushness of Quinn's belly. "It involved a door. Remember?"

And Quinn did suddenly remember. She was supposed to go through a door. And God was going to protect her so it'd be cool. She was still scared, but she had to go. Stepping down from Rachel's arms, Quinn was now full-sized again and considerably less a stuffed bear. Reaching out, she kissed Rachel on the forehead, leaving a star shaped mark there. "Thank you, north star. Now if you could just point me in the direction of this door…?"

Rachel motioned to her right, Quinn's left, and there it was sitting not a foot from them. A door and doorframe, standing there in the sand like the rest of the house had been blown away. As Quinn stared, Rachel walked back over the Trixie and grabbed his hand, pulling him back along the beach.

Quinn stared at the door with trepidation. This was what Doctor Octopus had been telling her to do as she and Spider-Man fought him, right? Go through the door. Make peace or… something. She had to do this. She trusted God to take care of her, to not let anything bad happen to her.

"I got your back," Quinn heard someone yell. She turned to see Jesus in just a pair of board shorts and flip flops sitting in a folding chair with one of those tanning mirrors. "No worries, Q!"

"Well, if Jesus says it's cool," Quinn muttered, reaching out. The doorknob was silvered and reflective, and she saw her hand reaching towards it in its reflection. Making contact, it was cooler than she was expecting with as hot as the beach was. She twisted and pushed and the door was swinging open easily.

On the other side of the doorway, rather than more beach as she should have seen looking through an empty doorway, Quinn saw a darkened hallway. Across the hallway was an unmarked door that looked exactly like the one she had just opened. On either side of that door were other doors that looked exactly the same. She knew, somehow, that if she stepped into the hallways and looked either way, she'd see doorways as far as she could see. A hall of identical doors.

A breeze swept through the hallway, sweet and cool, and suddenly the beach she was standing on was too hot, too humid, too much. Quinn needed the comfort of the hallway. Looking behind her, she saw Jesus still sunning himself, Santana and Brittany playing tug-of-war with the piranha, Rachel and Trixie building a sand sculpture of the Parthenon. Even Mini-Puck had wandered over from wherever he was hiding. He was sliding down the beach on his mohawk like a one-legged skater, using his hands to push himself forward. She wanted nothing more than to join these people, but she couldn't. The door compelled her.

So with one last look over her shoulder at Jesus who was giving her a thumbs up and a big smile, Quinn Fabray stepped through the doorway into the hall of her mind. And then, for the first time in her life, though she didn't know the term for it yet, she was lucid dreaming.

* * *

**Author's Notes #2: As far as the psychiatrist visit in this chapter, I know I said I wouldn't do it in "How People Start Listening" because I didn't think I could do it justice and didn't want to be disrespectful. This story, however, is supposed to be quite a bit more irreverent than HPSL, so I'm not concerned with showing it in here. With HPSL, I'm respecting the seriousness of the subject matter. With this, I'm just telling a fun story.**

**Also, the dream at the end… My dreams are always weird like this. Or they tell weird stories.**

**Again, feel free to drop a review if you feel like it. They make my day.**


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